He exhaled in a rush, feeling a sudden lightheadedness. “I didn’t even get to talk to her. Just as she got out the words ‘help me,’ two thugs who looked like leftovers from a Sicilian gang war grabbed me, started roughing me up. Tried to take away my camera. I fought like hell. Managed to get away, camera intact. Come here… I’ll show you.”
He led Honey past the large white walls, adorned with huge blowups of some of his favorite models, and toward the fully equipped darkroom at the very rear of the former warehouse space that occupied an entire floor of the building. Inside the cluttered, narrow room he located the eight-by-ten blowups he had made of the blonde, and handed them over ceremoniously. Honey studied them, nodding slowly. “Yes, I see… enchanting. Charming. Very.”
“I’ve never seen such a face,” he said with conviction as he stared at the Botticelli-like angel.
“So what happened then?”
“I ran off, hid, and followed them. The two thugs clamped onto her and walked her really fast into the Pierre Hotel. But when I asked the desk clerk about her, he got very nervous, uptight. Told me there was no one of that description registered and ordered me to leave at once, before he called the security guard.”
Even in the dimness, he could see the spark of interest light up her eyes. “And?” she asked.
“That’s it. Except that I watched the hotel day and night, practically—until this morning. But I never saw her again.”
“That’s it? A beautiful blonde in the park says ‘help me,’ and you yank me all the way from California?”
“I can’t get her out of my mind, Honey. She’s in deep trouble. I just know it.”
“Why?” she asked coolly. “The lady of the bath’s a gem too, from all I could see. What’s another pretty face to you?”
He struggled to find words for his feelings. “That one in the park was everything. I feel obsessed with finding her. Her life’s in danger and I’m the only one who knows. That’s exactly how I feel. That girl is depending on me, I could see it in her eyes. She is counting on me to help her. I can’t ignore that, I just can’t.” From the antique brass clothes tree he grabbed some clothes and began tugging them on. He didn’t know where he was going, he only knew the magical girl was out there someplace and it was up to him to find her.
“Dirk?”
Honey came to him, a vision of creamy skin, full curves, and burnished hair, a wistful smile gracing her lips. She stopped before him, locking eyes with his and putting her arms around his neck, pulling him close. She held him tightly and his heart raced. His chest burned from the imprint of her breasts. “Of course I’ll help you,” she murmured. “Just hold me for a moment… give your only family a little warm welcome, okay? Then we’ll find your mysterious blonde of the park… I promise.”
3.
HONEY
Within the hour, Honey had checked into the Presidential Suite of the Hotel Pierre. As she tipped the bellman extravagantly for bringing up her bags, she showed him one of Dirk’s photos of the lovely young blonde and received a vague, noncommittal reply that he thought he recognized her, but he couldn’t be sure. Unconvinced that he was telling the truth, she thanked him, turning on her considerable charms. “By the way, who’s the manager here?”
“Evan Bell,” the young man replied, easing toward the door. “But he’s not on duty until morning. Our assistant manager, Merit Harper, will be happy to be of service until then.”
After thanking him, Honey waited until he had departed before calling the front desk and asking that the assistant manager be sent up in exactly a half hour. Hurriedly she unpacked and changed into an apricot-toned peignoir, discreet but enticing in its simple elegance. Brushing the full waves of her hair, she realized that she and Dirk had damned little to go on; if she couldn’t get a lead here at the Pierre, she had no idea how she would be able to continue. As much as she wanted to help her dear brother, she would be at a dead end. And that disturbed her greatly. She could not recall ever seeing Dirk so completely obsessed by anything or anyone in his life. His passionate, desperate desire to help the mysterious blonde had touched something deep inside Honey, and she felt compelled to offer assistance in any way she could. But she had to have something to go on, and at the moment she only had the photo of the girl. Not much, she assessed ruefully. Not much at all.
The assistant manager turned out to be a distinguished-looking gentleman in his early sixties, with graying hair, an eager-to-please smile, and an overly polite manner. “Miss Wildon,” Merit Harper greeted her effusively as she ushered him into the sitting room of the suite, “it’s an honor to have you as a guest. I am a great fan of your articles.”
“Why, thank you, Merit. May I call you Merit?” She waved him into an upholstered wing-backed chair.
“I’d be pleased, thank you.”
Languidly she settled back into the couch, crossing her long legs underneath the sheer skirt. “I confess, I need your help. I am trying to locate someone—a young girl of spectacular beauty.” She leaned forward and handed over the eight-by-ten photo, carefully watching his reaction.
It was guarded, cautious. He looked up with a quizzical smile. “She is lovely… but I’ve never seen her before.”
“Are you absolutely positive? I have reason to believe she was a guest here as recently as last Sunday.”
“I’m certain I would remember her,” he replied stiffly. “Why, may I ask, are you seeking her?”
Honey flashed him her trademark smile—open, engaging, hinting at future rewards. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss that. You may rest assured that it is a matter of utmost importance and extreme urgency. Perhaps even a matter of life and death…”
“Oh, dear,” he murmured nervously, and laid the photo on the coffee table as if it were a ticking time bomb. “I’m sorry I can’t be of help.”
She eyed him for a long moment, her journalistic nose smelling clear evasion and coverup. She redoubled her efforts. Standing, she moved casually behind his chair and placed her hands on his thin, sloping shoulders. She felt him tense at her touch and she rubbed his neck. “Merit,” she purred intimately, “I find you an enormously attractive man, and I just know you’ll help me.”
“I’d like to, Miss Wildon,” he sputtered. “Really I would. But I don’t know how.”
She leaned down close, her soft tresses touching his cheek. “I would be so indebted,” she said softly into his ear. “You have no idea how much.”
He pulled free and stood, turning to her with a flustered, apologetic smile. “Miss Wildon, please… I just can’t help you.”
She came to him and touched the buttons of his pinstriped suit, nailing him with her luminous eyes. “I’m sure you could, if you put your mind to it.”
“Miss Wildon, it’s late. I have other duties I must attend to.”
She pressed closer, her heavy breasts touching his chest. He looked as though he was about to faint. She smiled plaintively. “I’m alone in this big city, with no one to turn to but you. Won’t you stay for a bit? I’ll make it worth your while…”
He drew himself upright, ramrod straight. “Miss Wildon, please. You don’t understand, I can’t help you in any way.”
“Forget the girl for now. Just help me make it through the long, lonely night ahead… please?”
He flushed several shades of red. “I can’t help you there either, I’m afraid. You see… I’ve been impotent for over a decade.”
“Oh, poor man,” she murmured genuinely. “Perhaps I can help you. I’m very easy to be with.”
“It’s not a psychological problem,” he replied uneasily. “I am physiologically unable to achieve an erection. Believe me, I’ve been to the experts and have tried everything.”
“Would you like me to try?”
“We’d both be wasting our time,” he said firmly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must see to my duties.” He backed away. “Believe me, if any woman could help, you could. But, alas… goodnight, Miss Wildon.”
He fled to the door and, without a backward glance, let himself out.
She stared at the closed door, silently cursing his misfortune. Abruptly a wave of tiredness swept over her and she realized she was still on California time; it was after four in the morning out there. She attempted a call to Dirk to report on her lack of progress, but there was no answer at his Soho loft. Hoping it meant he had found some clue to track down, she slowly disrobed, longing for the randy Ricardo, whom she’d left at the San Francisco airport. For the first time in weeks, she fell into bed by herself and was soon asleep.
In the morning, bright and early, she was up, dressed in a demure Chanel suit of sapphire-blue wool, and knocking on the manager’s office door just off the spacious lobby. The moment she laid eyes on Evan Bell, she knew her prospects were decidedly more propitious with him than they had been with the assistant manager. He was a charmingly handsome young man of no more than thirty-five, with laughing gray eyes, carefully coiffed dark blonde hair and a trim, athletic body under his expensive three-piece suit. He greeted her warmly, making no attempt to cover his obvious interest. But when she showed him the photo of the blonde, explaining her quest, Evan Bell turned cool and distant. “No. I’ve never laid eyes on her. Anything else?”
“Are you certain, positively?” Honey inquired. “This is a matter of vital importance.”
“I regret I cannot be of help.” He pushed himself to his feet behind the desk. “I hope you enjoy your stay at the Pierre.”
With downcast eyes she said forlornly, “If you can’t help, I’m afraid I must leave at once.”
“Pity,” he replied, walking to the door and opening it. “I’ll have your bill drawn up.”
She rose, gliding to him. “You’re most kind. I was so hoping you’d help.”
“Regrettably, I can’t. Good day Miss Wildon.” He ushered her out and closed the door behind her.
With long, angry strides, she crossed the lobby and slipped into a telephone booth, dialing Dirk’s number. Again there was no answer. Her anger boiled—both at her inability to get anywhere with the hotel management and at her brother for not bothering to wait for her promised call. Slamming the receiver back into the cradle, she caught sight of the manager leaving his office and exiting the lobby through a side door marked Employees Only. Quickly she followed, determined to get the truth out of him.
The door led to a long, dimly lit hallway. At the far end, the manager was disappearing through a partially open doorway. By the time she reached the door, it was closed. The sign on it read Linen Room. She was about to knock when she heard, on the other side, a muffled giggle from a distinctly feminine voice.
After a glance back up the deserted hall, Honey knelt quickly and put her eyes to the large, old-fashioned keyhole. What greeted her did not surprise her, but certainly raised her interest. Directly opposite the keyhole, the profile of an also-kneeling Evan Bell was buried in the muff of some girl. A maid’s uniform was bunched up around her waist, and her rounded, firm ass was being clutched by the eager hands of Bell as he lapped at the brown-haired bush, his feverishly moving tongue sporadically visible.
Just when Honey thought she had seen enough of the arousing display, the couple beyond the keyhole reversed positions and Evan Bell was now standing, his hard prick in the maid’s mouth. Honey felt a growing heat within her own loins, and her breathing intensified. But she could tell the maid was a rank amateur in the art, for her ministrations to Bell’s appetizing-looking cock were tentative and unsure.
Making up her mind, Honey stood and, without bothering to knock, threw open the door. The pretty young maid, her mouth full of meat, choked in surprise and rose with a squeal of embarrassment, trying to yank down her uniform to cover her fetching nakedness. Even Bell’s hands flew to hide his stiff cock, a look of such profound astonishment on his handsome face that Honey had to suppress a laugh. Before she could speak, the maid, red-faced, ran from the small room, which was lined with shelves of stacked and folded sheets and towels. Calmly Honey closed the door after the girl and faced the tongue-tied manager. “Mr. Bell,” she said wtih a grin, “I’m so happy I found you before I checked out.”
“Miss Wildon, I… I…” He fumbled to put his still-stiff dick back into his trousers.
“Don’t be shy,” she insisted and moved to him, catching his trembling hands. She grazed the moist cap of his hard cock with her hand and locked eyes with him. “Let’s help each other, all right?” She brushed his hands away and clasped his thick appendage firmly.
He gasped with pleasure, his confusion and uncertainty apparent. “Miss Wildon…”
“Please, call me Honey. Does this door have a key?”
He nodded and jerked his head toward a large brass key hanging on a nail by the door jamb. She let go of him, took the key, locked the door, and replaced the key on the nail. Evan Bell stared in disbelief as she took off her suit jacket, hung it on the nail, and slowly began unbuttoning her blouse. “You have a beautiful cock, Mr. Bell,” she said easily. “Why don’t you get undressed so I can see the rest of you?” She tugged off her blouse and displayed her treasures for him. The soft fullness of her pale breasts shone in the light from the single bulb overhead. And still the manager stared, his rigid tool pointing at her like a silent, one-eyed observer.
Smiling at her good fortune, she stepped out of her high heels and unzipped her skirt. Yanking it down, she folded it carefully and placed it on a nearby stack of fresh towels. “Aren’t you going to join me?” she asked, standing only in her pale pink, low-cut silk panties.
With a start, as if suddenly awakened from a deep sleep, he began tearing off his clothes, flinging them aside until he too was nude. His chest and thighs were covered with an appealing, downy fuzz. She stepped close, rubbing her nipples over the soft mat of his chest. His thickness below the waist poked into her belly and she kissed him lightly on the lips, one hand behind his head, then sank to her knees.
Taking his iron-hard rod in both hands, she traced its length with her tongue, following the intricate pattern of thick blue veins. She took one of his balls in her lips, washing it with her tongue, and then did the same with the other, finally putting both in her mouth, applying pressure gently. Returning her attention to the blood-red cap, she smothered it with kisses, making it wet and sticky with her saliva, before sucking it deeply into her mouth.
He groaned with desire, his hands kneading her shoulders, and began pumping his hips, driving his peter in and out of her mouth. She opened wide, swallowing it fully, her nose buried in his kinky pubic hair. She could feel the thick head pushing deep into her throat, and could see the rapid rising and falling of his belly button. With expertise gained through years of continual practice, she worked her wonders on his pulsating penis.
When it began to twitch uncontrollably and his balls contracted upward into their fleshy sack, she deduced he was on the brink of coming. Teasingly she let his penis slip from her mouth. Grabbing a few clean sheets from the lowest shelf, she placed them on the floor, then lay back on them to wiggle out of her panties. She smiled sweetly and parted her creamy thighs, displaying the fiery red of her bush. “My turn now,” she said.
He sank between her knees and, with an excited growl, flung her long legs up over his shoulders. For a brief second he surveyed her tantalizing pussy, noting the rose-colored petals lining the entrance to the portal of her pleasure, before sticking in his tongue. She was already wet with desire, and that only increased his ardor. Locking feverishly onto her lust-trigger, he pummeled it with his blunt tongue.
Delighting in his knowledgeable ways, she lay back, her hands roaming her body, caressing her breasts, squeezing and releasing the hard nubs of her nipples, losing herself again in the delicious sensations of erotic stimulation coursing through her system.
All too soon, Bell rose up to jam his hardness into her inflamed trench. “You are so-o-o beautiful,” he rasped, and rammed at her like an overeager schoolboy. She wished he would slow down, but his momen
tum only picked up. His zestful groans increased also, and she feared he was ready to climax. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she shoved him up, ordering, “Lie down on your back.”
Unwillingly he withdrew his cock and flopped over on his back. Straddling him, she took hold of his thick, slippery dick and carefully sat on it, easing it all the way into her demanding box. Firmly in control now, she put her hands on his chest and began to rock up and down with a slow, easy rhythm. Her heavy, pale breasts swayed and he latched on to them fiercely, as if they were handles and he was trying to enter her very soul.
Carefully watching his face, she rode his pogo stick up and down, up and down, not shortchanging her own pleasure, but more interested in how far away he was from climaxing. When his eyes fluttered closed and his thighs stiffened beneath her, she stopped altogether, pulling off him. “No, No,” he moaned in agony. “I’m almost there…”
She lay full out on him, and as he squirmed under her, trying to push back into her heated, dripping cunt, she ordered him throatily, “Tell me about the girl.”
His eyes registered dismay. “I can’t…”
“You mean, you won’t,” she corrected. “You’re holding back something, aren’t you?”
“Let me come, then we’ll talk.”
“If you won’t cooperate with me, why should I with you?” She rolled off him and sat up, reaching for her panties.
“Please… I beg of you…” he groaned, groping for her.
“Turn about is fair play,” she said breezily.
“I… I could lose my job.”
She curled close again, whispering, “No one will ever know but us.” She grabbed his hard, wet peter and stroked it. “The girl was registered here, wasn’t she?”
Eyes closed, he nodded minutely.
She stepped up the tempo on his trembling dick. “What’s her name?”
He shook his head, responding grimly, “I never knew.”
The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey Page 3
